Change of Heart
by The Black Rose445
Summary: When Altair returns to the Bureau with a bloodied shoulder and a guilt-ridden heart, he seeks Malik for comfort. Disclaimer inside. Please read and review.


**I've been wanting to finish this for a while now, but I never had the drive. But now that it is finished, enjoy! I don't own AC or it's characters. **

**For now, this is a oneshot, but if you think it doesn't feel complete-or want some smutty-smut-smut- just tell me and I'll write another chapter**.

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Malik straightened up from his work, stretching his cramped muscles. Night had already fallen outside, and the city was eerily quiet. He couldn't help but wonder where Altair was. The novice had come to the city not three days ago for an assignment, and Malik had already lost track of him. The chime of a small bell pulled him from his thoughts, and he rushed over to his window to let the person in. The bell was placed there solely for assassins, seeing how they were the only people who could comfortably reach a second-floor window. Sliding it open, he's surprised when a bloodied Altair nearly falls on top of him. Closing the window, he pulls Altair over and sets him on the bed.

"Safety and peace to you, brother," came a soft, almost unfamiliar whisper. Altair's voice sounded so weak, almost like his voice when he first found that Malik had lost his arm. Malik had never blamed the Altair, but that had never stopped him from blaming himself.

"Safety and peace to you as well, Novice. Now would you please explain to me what happened to you? You look like the birds my cat regularly drags in from outside." Malik's voice came out as an edgy hiss. Not that he didn't have any right to be angry; Altair had reported in once, just to pick up the contract, disappears for three days, then comes back half-dead. Of course Malik is going to be angry. He tugs off the robes covering Altair's shoulder, which seems to have taken the most injury. Even as he begins to wrap the wound, the novice pulls a blood-stained feather from his belt, holding it in a way so that Malik can see it clearly.

"Take it. I will handle this," He says, placing the feather in Malik's hand and finishing what Malik had started on his arm. Malik walk back to the counter where he was working earlier and placed the feather in its box, being sure to hide it well.

"I'm assuming, mostly from the kinds of wounds you sustained, that you had guards after you?" Malik implores. He has to work to keep his voice steady. Altair nods.

"Yes, but no longer. I made sure to deal with them before coming anywhere close to this place." Malik sighs in both annoyance and relief. He gives Altair a glare that says," How many?"

"No deaths that I know of, but a few may result if they do not take care of their wounds soon." The guilt in the novice's voice surprises Malik. The Altair he knew would feel shame at not killing them. But this Altair seemed to hate having to hurt them. _What happened to change you so much in so little time?_ Malik wondered. Instead of voicing his thoughts, all he could come up with was," You've grown, Novice." The smile that graced his face was one that Malik would do anything to see again.

Malik let Altair sleep on the only bed that night, more out of concern than anything else. Concern that was well-placed, as the younger man developed a fever near the middle of the night, one which did not break until well into the afternoon of the next day. Altair didn't even wake until evening came again.

"M-malik?" Altair groaned. Malik was at his side in seconds.

"Are you feeling any better?" he asked, cautiously replacing the wet cloth on his forehead. Altair nod, and tried to sit up, but was pushed down by a gentle hand.

"Not quite yet, Novice, you are not yet well enough," Malik chided softly as he forced Altair to lie back down. "Lay here and don't try to move yet. I will go get you some food." He stood and rushed downstairs, leaving Altair to ponder his thoughts.

Malik returned as quickly as he could. The novice's fever concerned him; it wasn't often that he let himself get sick. Placing the bowl of soup he had brought with him on the table by the bed, he reached over to help Altair into a sitting position. As Altair ate, Malik pulled back his robe to check the wound on his shoulder. Surprise colored Malik's features when he saw that there was no sign of infection.

"Are you feeling well now?" Malik asked, wrapping the wound again in clean bandages. Altair only nod, seemingly concentrating on eating with his off-hand and not spilling food on his gracious host.

"You're healing well, but I think you just need rest." The eagle of Masyaf only nod again. Malik took the empty bowl from his lap and set it on the bedside table before pulling a chair up and positioning himself across from the novice.

"There is something bothering you," the Dai said pointedly. Altair sighed, leaning back to rest his head on the wall as Malik raised a single eyebrow at him, daring the novice to call him out.

"I've killed a lot of good men," Altair whispered, voice full of shame.

"Are you speaking of this most recent assignment? Because I would not call the one you killed a 'good man.'"

Altair shook his head violently, a frown pulling at the edges of his lips. "It was before that. Every time I take the life of a guard pursuing me on the street, or of a noble sleeping soundly in his bed, I feel the weight of their lives on me. The knowledge that I am taking a husband from their wife- a father from his children- fills me with grief. I understand that I must stain my hands in blood to fulfill my duties as a member of the Creed, but still…" A hand carding through his short black hair cut Altair short. He looked up into Malik's eyes, recognizing concern and pity- as well as many unidentifiable feelings- swirling within.

"You've grown, Novice," the Dai whispered, a sad smile gracing his face. Altair frowned in confusion.

"How have I grown, Malik? How, when every time I take a life it feels like my first kill all over again? How have I grown as an assassin when every contract, every kill, tears me apart inside?" He stared up at Malik with begging eyes, pleading for him to explain. He could feel the tears welling up against his will, all the guilt and sadness finally breaking through his tightly kept façade. Malik pulled the novice to his chest, letting the tears soak his shoulder.

"I never meant as an assassin, Altair. Assassins are meant to be insensitive murderers. But inside, they are still men. You've grown as a man."

Altair's strong arms wrapped around Malik's waist as his shaking grew stronger. But there were no sobs. Malik knew the younger man well enough to know that he rarely made any noise when he cried. He merely continued holding him and stroking his hair until his shaking stopped and the tears ceased to flow. Setting him to bed again, Malik put the candles out before climbing under the covers next to him. Brushing away a stray tear, he heard Altair hum softly. It's a melody familiar to both of them, and the Dai can feel his eyelids growing heavy. Just before he faded to sleep he heard Altair whisper, "Thank you, Habibi."

It took him until morning to realize what Altair said.

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Hey guys! I am actually planning to continue this fic, but for emotionally security reasons it will be continued on AO3. I hope to see you there!


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